


Keeping Secrets, Mr. Coulson?

by AlexKingOfTheDamned, swimsalot



Series: 1920'vengers [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Secret Relationship, Time Period: 1920's, forbidden relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned, https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimsalot/pseuds/swimsalot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton, a foot soldier for Tony Stark - the biggest Mobster there is - meets a man by the name of Phil Coulson, and it's lust at first sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Secrets, Mr. Coulson?

Clint met him after coming back from a late job down at the docks. He was tired and hungry and at first didn't even notice the man sitting in Tony's living room, smoking a cigar with the cities’ leading mob boss. Meetings like that weren't unusual around Tony's place. He seemed to have people over at all hours. Usually girls but sometimes new business associates. Clint passed them and went straight to the kitchen, needing a sandwich and some of Tony's secret stock of booze.  
  
He came back into the room with some beer and sat down in the chair on Tony's other side, ignoring the open box of cigars. He had never smoked. Not cigars, he preferred cigarettes. He hated the smell of cigars and couldn't imagine the taste would be any better. With a sigh he settled into his chair and finally turned his attention to the new comer.  
  
"Barton, this is Phil Coulson. The newest member of our family." Tony said.  
  
Clint barely heard him. As soon as he caught sight of Phil anything else went straight out the window. The man was absolute perfection. His lean (but not too skinny) frame was encased in high quality fabric, tailored into a neat suit that perfectly displayed his thin waist, broad shoulders and long legs. His short hair was neatly styled and peaked on his forehead, giving him a certain authority that went well with the little smirk he was giving Clint as he raised the cigar to his lips.  
  
He was _perfect._  
  
Clint had been attracted to men before. Since he was a teenager really. He hadn't known it then, had thought it was nothing but simple appreciation for his fellow men. He had grown up in a place where privacy meant nothing and seeing a nicely formed body was rare. Freak shows tended to have very few people who fit anyone's idea of attractive and Clint had managed to convince himself that what he felt when he saw a good looking man was just a heightened appreciation that came from being so separated from the norm for so long.  
  
Then there had been Loki. His first Boss.  
  
Loki had been very clear with what he wanted from Clint from the start. The archer hadn't even known something like that was possible but Loki had taught him very quickly. And he had liked it. A lot. Loki's body didn't excite him the way some other men's did but knowing what he was able to do with the man had more than made up for that. He had thought that that was as good as it would ever get.  
  
Then he found himself sitting across from this god-like man and he knew he had been wrong. If he could get this man into bed it would be ten times better than anything he had ever had with Loki or could ever have with any other guy. Just looking at this guy-Phil, Tony had said, right?- made him feel a little hot under the collar. He wanted nothing more than to grab him by the tie, pull him into the nearest bedroom and-  
  
He didn't know. At that moment it occurred to him that he didn't want to throw Phil down and do to him what he had done to Loki. Trying to master that closely guarded power and strength felt wrong somehow, even just thinking about it.  
  
No, that wouldn't do. Not with Phil. Maybe with Phil he could allow himself to try something a little different. Maybe he could switch up the roles with Phil. He had never considered it before but with Phil it was all he thought about. And damn were those thoughts good.  
  
But it could never happen. He didn't know if that was what Phil wanted and if he asked and it wasn't he would probably be dead before morning. Besides, he had a nice safe cover with Natasha. Their relationship kept him safe and got her where she wanted. No one else would ever need to know he wanted something completely different.  
  
  
~*~*  
  
Clint walks into the same room months later, feeling uneasy. He just came off a job when he heard Tony wanted to speak with him. usually Tony only calls for him when he wants someone to drink with, in which case he would have said so, or when he wants to give him a job, which he never does so close together. But if Tony wants you, you go so here he is, standing awkwardly in Tony's living room, in front of the boss himself, wondering if he's about to be shot.

 

Tony’s leaning against his desk, massaging his temples with one hand and holding a glass with probably too much brandy in it with the other.

 

“Look, Barton, Clint,” Tony starts, finally looking up and then deciding to look down again. “I want to open with an apology.”

 

_Oh, shit. This is it._

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,”

 

_Should I try running?_

 

“You’re one of my best friends.”

 

_How far would I have to go to hide from his people?_

“And I hate that this has happened,”

 

_Could I leave the country?_

“But please, believe me when I tell you I didn’t know.”

 

_Wait. Didn’t know what?_

“Stark, you’re seriously making me nervous.” Clint says, and now he’s eyeing the windows and planning an escape route.

 

Tony sighs again and sets down the glass. “I didn’t know that you and Tasha… she didn’t tell me. I didn’t know you were an item. Frankly with a girl like that I don’t know why _you_ didn’t say anything.”

 

“…Stark?”

 

“She approached me. Asked to get with me between the sheets. I couldn’t say no, that face, that hair, those eyes. I didn’t _know_. I’m a little distraught that she could so easily cat around behind your back.” He looks up with guilty eyes. “You’re probably my best pal. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Clint is so relieved he has to fight not to laugh. Nat had gone behind his back, that was all. He isn't about to be killed.

He knows he should be upset, so he doesn't smile even though this is absolutely perfect. He's been hoping something would come along that would give him a reason to drop Natasha and here it is. She'd inadvertently given him the opening he needed to break things off with her and open himself up to something with the man he truly wants.

That doesn't mean he isn't upset though. He never really cared for Natasha as anything more than a friend but he and Tony had been close. He trusts the other man and having him go behind his back and sleep with his girl puts a bit of a damper on that.

But even that little twinge of anger makes this easier. He had no trouble frowning and looking away, like he's disgusted with what he's just been told.

"Dames like Natasha are hard to trust." He says, not looking at Tony. "I never told anyone because I knew it wouldn't be long ‘til she did something like this. Never expected it would be with you though, boss."

Tony looks like he’s going to be sick. He’s staring out the window with a grimace on his face.

 

“I didn’t mean for this,” Tony sighed, setting down his brandy glass because his hand had started to shake a little. “If Id’a known, I woulda never…”

 

He hates that he’s showing this weakness to Clint, but he really does trust him. He probably shouldn’t trust a living soul, but seeing as he already trusts Pepper and Jarvis to the ends of the Earth, the addition of Clint isn’t too bad.

 

And since he trusts him, he also cares about him. He’s genuinely sorry that this has happened, but he can’t change it. He’s sorry for more reason that one, but Clint doesn’t need to know about Tony’s personal romantic life.

 

He sighs again, looking up to see Clint’s hurt, thoughtful expression.

 

“I mean it,” he says, taking a cigarette from his pocket and holding it up to Clint’s mouth until he accepted it, and lighting it with a match. “I never woulda done this. I don’t like getting mixed up with girls that already got fellas.”

 

Clint sighs and takes a long drag on the cigarette. Tony is obviously really broken up about this, more so than he is, and he wants to reassure the man that it really isn't all that bad. That he actually did him a favor by sleeping with Natasha but he doesn't want to blow his cover. He doesn't know for sure what Tony's feelings are on...people like him but chances are they aren't favorable. And he's gotten used to a pretty comfortable life here.  
  
"You didn't know." he shrugs. "Like ya said. She shoulda told you. That's what I get for getting caught up with a doll like her. At least she decided to move up in the world instead of running off with some bull."

 

“She will not be moving up,” Tony said, heading back to his desk and picking up his glass again. “There are two things and only two in this world that get me angry more than anything else. Killing my people, and _cheating_. I don’t tolerate cheating. You wouldn’t guess it, but I would _never_ sleep with a chick who already got a man. Is there… anything I can do? To make it better?”

 

Clint shook his head. "Nothing I can think of. I'll talk to her later tonight and break things off Maybe keep off any jobs she's on for a while? Don't need things going bad because we can't work together." He thought for a minute then smiled. "Though I wouldn't say no to some free hooch if you're feeling generous."

 

Tony gives a laugh, and he can see the twinkle back in Clint’s eye. He stepps behind his desk and opens a drawer, pulling out a crystal flagon of some dark liquid. Tony always has the best of everything. He’s the best weapons dealer, his company’s got the best cars, and he always, _always_ has the best booze.

 

“Take the whole thing,” he says, tossing the fist-sized crystal at him. “I’ve got plenty more.”

 

Clint grins. Tony can be a legitimately good guy when he wants to and this is exactly what Clint needs. Good hooch is hard to come by these days and all Clint can afford is the cheap stuff anyway. He doesn't know what Coulson is being paid but he doubts he can afford anything other than bad moonshine either.  
  
"Thanks Tony. You're pretty decent. Even if you did sleep with my girl." Clint says, putting on his hat and nodding to Tony before heading out the door.

 

Tony feels as though he’s dodged a bullet, and now he has to go deal with Pepper and her rage. At least he can sweep one of his problems under the rug.

 

Clint hides the booze in his bag and makes his way down the street to his and Natasha's place. He wants to make a quick, clean break before heading out to hunt down Phil.  
  
The light is one when he walks through the door and he can smell the mingled scent of cigarette smoke and Natasha's perfume that always announces her presence. He slips his back into the closet where he can grab it without her seeing on his ay back out again and makes his way into the small living room.  
  
"Nat, doll, we gotta talk." he says when he finds her lounging on the sofa.

 

Natasha looks up from applying dark eyeshadow with a paint brush and gives an innocent sort of smile.

 

“There you are, baby,” she says, “You’re right we gotta talk, I got great news.”

 

"Does it have anything to do with you going to Tony behind my back?" Clint asks, eyebrows raised. "I'm not a big fan of cheaters Tasha. Neither is Tony. Especially when the person they're cheating on is one of his closest friends."

 

Natasha’s eyes widen and her lips pucker a little as she slides up into a languid sitting position.

 

“Well, yes, actually,” she says. “I was hoping for a bigger paycheck. Maybe a better job. I gotta be open for everything from the Boss if I want more. Don’t you want to get out of this apartment and into a better place? That takes money, and money he’s got. There are only a few ways a woman can get money out of a man, and I’d really prefer not to marry him.”  

 

"You're not getting anything outta Tony." Clint says stiffly. "He isn't too happy about you messing around behind my back. I talked to him tonight and he assured me that you're not moving up in this world any time soon. And I happen to like my apartment. But if you're so disappointed with it you can leave."

 

Natasha looks hurt for a moment. “But I did it for us,” she says, her tone sugar-sweet. “For _us_.” She stands up and steps forward, spreading her fingers over Clint’s shoulders.

 

Clint gracefully steps away from her. "You did it for you babe. Don't think I don't know you well enough to see that. I'm clearing out for the night and when I come back tomorrow I want your shit out of my place."

 

Her expression hardens and the little pout was gone. “ You’re kicking me out?” she says viciously, her eyes narrowing.

 

"I'm sure you got at least six other fellas lined up who would be more than willing to take you in." he replies coldly, arms crossed. "I know how you operate Natasha. This is just the first time I had any real proof of it."

 

She breathes in steadily, her stance matching his own. “Alright,” she says, bending down to pick up her heels and put them on. “And you’re right. I got a job offer from Loki, and I intend to take it. I’ll be better off under him than I ever was under that scum Stark. Womanizer indeed, he couldn’t even get me off.” She picks up her purse and scoops her makeup into it with one clean motion.

 

"Loki's not going to do much for you either in that department." Clint says, blocking her path to the door. "You don't have to leave altogether sweetheart. I'd rather not be living with you but that doesn't mean you gotta up and quit on all of us. You know Stark's gonna come out on top in all of this in the end. Wouldn't you rather be on the winning side? He’s not too kind to traitors either."  
  
He heads down the hall and grabs his bag out of the closet. "I'm heading out for the night. Take some time to think about it."

 

Natasha sits on the couch with a haughty air about her, not looking in Clint’s direction as he leaves.

 

And now he’s free. He feels wide and bloomed open and dizzy with freedom, and he knows exactly where he’s going to go first. If he had his way he’d jump on Coulson the second he sees him, but he has to wait. Has to test the water with his toe first. He can’t be wrong, it could mean death.

 

Lucky for Clint, Coulson is a predictable man. He’s usually in his office, and when he’s not, Maria his secretary will know where he is.

 

But when Clint arrives, Maria is gone. Phil’s door is open a crack, so he knocks. A heartbeat later and there’s Phil’s voice, as ordinary and unassuming as possible.

 

“Come in, door’s open.”

 

Clint sidles into the room and closes the door behind him, all the way this time, and subtly turns the lock. If anything does happen he doesn't want to risk being walked in on. If nothing happens, well, he'll be the first to reach the door and he can unlock it before Coulson even realizes what he's done.  
  
"I broke things off with Natasha. Turns out she was getting friendly with Stark while I was away." he says as he approaches the desk. He sits down on the hardwood and pulls the bottle out of his bag, setting it down in front of Coulson. "Got us some hooch. Compliments of Stark himself."

 

Coulson’s brows arch and he looks at the crystal stopper with interest. “And you’re bringing it to me?” he says, his pen stilling.

 

He and Clint have been friendly. They’ve had conversations, but Clint mostly kept his distance, and he was always polite. This was an unexpected – though not unwelcomed – surprise.

 

Clint nods. "Wanted to celebrate. I'm finally free of her. I was never really interested in her anyway. I mean she's a great looking gal but..." He looks Coulson in the eye, not allowing his gaze to waver, hoping he'll catch his meaning, "She's not really what I'm looking for."

 

An almost imperceptible smirk quirks Coulson’s thin lips. “Hm, and are you going to tell me what you are looking for?” he asks, his words innocent and his tone even. His blue eyes were burning.

 

He raises his hands to steeple his fingers in front of him, running his thumb over his lower lip as he observed the man sitting before him, legs spread confidently, sleeves rolled up over toned arms, shirt buttons open to expose pale, hairless chest.

 

Clint smirks and leans a little closer to Coulson. The man is interested, he can tell. It's clear in his eyes and the way he just looked Clint up and down, taking in the whole of his body.  
  
"I most definitely am, if you're interested." he says lazily, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips and he waits for Coulson to react.

 

“Over there, on the table,” Coulson suddenly says, one finger unfolding from the steeple to point over Clint’s shoulder. “By the mirror.”

 

Clint looks over his shoulder and there’s a big ornate mirror on the wall that reflects almost the entire office. In front of it is a dark oak table and on it, a silver tray with crystal brandy glasses, just two.

 

Clint grins and grabs the crystal stopper, carrying the bottle over to the table, a small confident sway to his hips as he moves. He leans against the table and raises an eyebrow at Coulson.  
  
"I'm not here to serve you. If you want something you're going to have to come get it," he laughs.

 

Coulson raises his eyebrows again, almost playfully, but the rest of his expression is serious. Maybe a little interested.

 

“Pour,” he says, and it’s almost an order. Clint has an inexplicable need to obey, and turns.

 

He can see movement in the mirror, hears Coulson’s chair scrape across the floor. He’s standing, and now Clint is thrumming, but keeps his eyes focused on pouring into the two crystal glasses.

 

Suddenly there’s breath on the back of his neck, and Coulson is _right there_.

 

“I know the way you look at me,” he says, his voice a low hum. His hand moves, fingers spread over the front of Clint’s thigh and hold on tight, thumb sliding dangerously close to his groin. “When you think I can’t see you.”

 

"You never tell me not to." Clint says, pressing against that hand. He looks up and he can see Coulson in the mirror. Most of him isn't visible but he's very clearly there, almost pressing against Clint's back and just knowing he's there has the younger man half hard already. "Fella might get the idea you wanted him to look."

 

Coulson’s eyes seem darker in the mirror, lust burning hard in their hues. His fingers tighten against Clint’s thigh and his other hand joins the action on his opposite leg. Taking him in hand, squeezing and possessing him.

 

“I’ve been looking at you too,” Coulson murmurs, kissing the side of Clint’s ear, smirking against the goose bumps that rise instantly to his touch. “I like what I see.”

 

Clint’s almost fully hard now, just thinking about what Coulson is going to do to him. He can tell by the way Phil's hands are on him that he isn't going to be soft or gentle and that isn't what Clint wants anyway. He wants something hard and domineering that they'll both remember for days to come.  
  
With a grin he turns and whispers back.  
  
"I'm not gonna stop you. If there's something here you want then you just have be man enough to take it."

 

Coulson runs his tongue up the length of Clint’s throat, tasting him. His cologne, his sweat, his musk. He feels Clint’s moan vibrate against his tongue as he closes the gap between them and his chest curves to the other’s back.

 

It’s not as if he’s gay. He had a girl once, a few years back. She played the cello. Pretty thing, black hair, but she left him because he was too boring. It had opened his eyes, for sure. Well, if she thought he was boring, he’d just have to try harder in the future to be interesting.

 

Since then… well, he actually hadn’t changed much. Joined the mob, met a girl, didn’t get with her. She thought he was ‘nice and all’ but he just wasn’t her type. Met another girl, lost his chance when she went for a man with a better car.

 

Women didn’t seem to want him. And they were pretty things, but he appreciated them much like he appreciated a doll. They were fragile and petty and they wanted a man who would provide and make it interesting.

 

Clint doesn’t want that. If he wants Coulson, he doesn’t want him for how well he can provide. They can’t be public, they have to be secret. If Clint is willing to hide everything and go behind the rules of society for a man like _Coulson_. Well damn, that must mean _something_. Caught, they could go to prison. Or a mental hospital, they’d never get jobs again, someone might even decide to kill them. This was a big deal.

 

He’s never been with a man before, but he understands the mechanics. He’s dealt with homos in the past, never personally, never sexually, but he understands. He thinks it probably isn’t much different than being with a woman. He feels more intimate, he knows what to expect. Where to touch. Where to kiss.

 

Hands slide forward to trace the seams of Clint’s trousers, and he closes his lips around the shell of the younger man’s ear, giving a low hum as his head rocks back against Coulson’s shoulder.

 

Clint's eyes flutter closed and he allows himself to simply sink into the sensation. It's not the first time he's been touched by a man but it feels so much easier now. With Loki he had enjoyed himself sure but he'd never been so quickly aroused and had always felt a little uncomfortable. It didn't matter how Loki touched him, or kissed him, or how good he had looked spread out on the sheets. Somehow it had never felt right.  
  
With Coulson though, every touch seems to shoot right through him. Every flick of his tongue or press of his fingers has Clint coming a little more undone. The tension he'd built up in his body worrying about how this was gonna go melts away letting him relax into the curve of the other man's body. Even that isn't enough though and he reaches back, his hand hooking around Coulson's thigh to pull him forward so the other man's groin is pressing against his ass.

 

Coulson isn’t hard, but Clint knows it isn’t because he’s not aroused. He’s just far too in control to get hard so quickly, not like Clint, who’s already almost humping forward against the fingers that are just barely avoiding touching his cock.

 

“Open your eyes,” Coulson commands. “Watch.” He meets Clint’s gaze in the mirror as he slides a hand over his erection, palming him hard through his trousers. “Watch yourself. Watch my hands.” He gives a little grind forward, and he decides that yes, he is definitely looking forward to this.

 

"Fuck," Clint mutters, seeing himself in the mirror. He's well on his way to becoming a total mess and seeing Coulson behind him, clearly the cause of it, only makes him hotter. He can see the flush to his cheeks and the way Phil's lips look against the skin of his neck and he has to admit it's a pleasing sight. Almost as hot as the clear view of the other man's large hand cupping his trapped erection.

 

“Don’t curse,” Coulson murmurs forcefully against Clint’s throat, and he tightens his fingers around his cock, hard. “It’s foul. I’d rather hear nicer words about how I feel against you.”

 

He grinds forward again, nipping and sucking the corner of the other man’s jaw, exploring the texture of his stubble with his tongue.

 

"Ain't ever felt this good before," Clint admits all too happily. He grinds back against Coulson, desperately wanting to feel the man growing hard against him. "I need more though fella. Way too much fabric in the way. I want to feel those strong mits on my skin. Think you can do that?"

 

Coulson just hums in response, running his tongue over his lips with a small little smile. “I suppose,” he murmurs.

 

Opening his hand wider to allow Clint’s groin breathing room, he unzips the fly and guides the other man’s heavy cock out onto his palm. It exudes heat like it’s on fire and he wraps his fingers around it for an experimental squeeze.

 

He kisses the side of Clint’s ear, running his tongue up over the shell until he stops at the side, directly behind, and begins to suck. His lips are loud, his tongue is wet, and he’s definitely going to leave a mark.

 

Clint gasps and his hands slip a little on the table's smooth surface. Having someone's hand on his dick hasn't felt this good in years. Possibly ever because it certainly hadn't felt this good with Loki. His hands had been too small and thin and he had never applied the right amount of pressure, always being too gentle or too rough. Coulson seems to know just how hard to squeeze, like it’s instinctual.  
  
"You're good at that mac." he pants, trying to regain some composure but damn does it feel good. Coulson's hand coupled with his lips on that sensitive skin sends a shiver down his spine. He had never let Natasha mark him, as much as she had wanted to, because it had always felt wrong. He didn't want any visible marker of their nights together. But here, with Coulson, he wants as many marks as he can get. He wants to come away with bruises that will last for days. This might be their only time together and he wants the evidence that it happened.

 

Coulson begins to pump his hand, and it’s so hot and hard, and the friction is mind-blowing with lack of lubrication. Releasing for a moment, Coulson watches it bob in the mirror with burning eyes, and he dips his fingers into the dark alcohol that Clint poured, bringing it to Clint’s cock and starting up a faster rhythm with its aid.

 

Clint is leaning back all his weight on Coulson at this point, his lips open wide as he pants and his eyes closed.

 

“Watch, I said,” Coulson scolds, bringing up his other hand to take Clint by the hair and force his head towards the mirror. “I want you to watch everything. Watch my hand on you. Watch yourself come.”

 

Clint's eyes shoot open and he strains forward a little, loving the feel of his hair being pulled back. The pain is the perfect counter to the pleasure he's gaining from Phil's hand stroking his cock.  
  
Seeing it in the mirror is even better than just feeling it. The sight of Coulson holding him steady while his hand slides over his cock is the most erotic thing he could even imagine. They're both in their suits and while Coulson looks absolutely perfect Clint is falling apart. His hair is mussed and the locks are crushed between Phil's fingers, his cheeks are bright red and he's gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat on his face and Coulson's saliva on his neck.  
  
"Pull my hair again." he demands, his eyes locked on the fingers wrapped around his cock. "If you do I'll lose it."

 

Coulson tightens his fingers in Clint’s hair, almost ripping it out of his head as his hand moves faster over his cock.

 

“Come for me, come for me,” he murmurs, and Clint can feel he’s just starting to get hard, it’s grinding against his ass, it’s so perfect. He makes eye contact with Clint in the mirror, and his eyes are shining brightly with lust.

 

Clint keeps eye contact as much as he can, even as his hips start moving in time with Coulson's hand and everything starts going out of focus. He's right on the brink now, caught between the exciting tingle of pain in his scalp and tight ball of pleasure that been forming in his gut. He's teetering right on the edge of oblivion.  
  
His eyes snap back to Coulson's then and those fingers tighten around him just enough and he's losing it. With a quickly restrained shout that ball of pleasure explodes and he comes all over Coulson's hand and the desk. He catches sight of his own face in the mirror and Phil's smug smirk behind him before he loses his balance and falls forward onto the polished wood and damn is it the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

 

Coulson doesn’t miss a beat. His hand moves from Clint’s hair to his hip and he holds him there tight, his other hand raising in front of Clint’s face. It’s smeared with come, flecked in a random pattern, a string of it down his finger.

 

“Clean it off,” he commands, pulling Clint back ever so slightly into his groin and keeping him there, the pressure magnificent.

 

Clint groans and immediately his tongue is at work. Usually he would have resisted but something about Coulson's tone left no room for argument. Without bothering to protest he carefully laves his tongue over the palm and thumb before working his way up the forefinger which he eagerly sucks into his mouth.  
  
He doesn't mind the taste of himself so much, not when it's mixed with the taste of Phil's own skin. Even better is the feel of Coulson behind him, his breath quickening minutely and his cock finally hard against Clint's ass.

 

His hand clean, Coulson fists the material of Cint’s shirt on his shoulder, his other hand still rigid on his hip, and now he’s holding him firmly in place and grinding forward. Almost humping him, the table rocking loudly against the wall as he rubs tight against him, stroking his cock between Clint’s ass cheeks through the material of his trousers.

 

Coulson lets out a long, low moan, and already he’s wondering if he’s even going to make it through sex if he’s already close just from grinding.

 

Inspiration hits as the post orgasm fog clears from Clint's mind. He can tell how much Coulson loves rubbing against him. He can hear it in the low raspy breathes and moans coming from the man behind him. He knows Phil is already too close to the edge and if this is going to go the way he wants it to he's going to need to spur things on.  
  
Clint leans forward a little, testing Coulson's hold on him. His grip is firm but his arms aren't locked and Clint manages to lean forward on the table, his ass sticking out just a little more, and uses his new leverage to grind back against Coulson, matching up with his current motions perfectly.  
  
"I want you," he moans, his hand leaving to table to grip the one Phil has on his hip. "I want ya to pound me into this table, you hear me?"

 

A wave of heat curls out of Coulson’s belly and he meets Clint’s eyes in the mirror with a hard stare.

 

“Deal,” he says, his voice a low hum.

 

He’s so glad he has Venetian hand cream on his desk. Three paces there and back and two pumps into his hand later, he’s pulling Clint’s trousers down, and god he’s hard pressed to think of an ass finer than the one he’s looking at now.

 

He seizes Clint by the hair and lifts his head so they can look at one another in the mirror, and Phil looks like he’s possessed his eyes are shining so bright. He listens to Clint pant for just a few seconds before he pushes his first lotion-slicked finger inside.

 

Clint trembles a little but manages to hold in a surprised gasp. It's not just that the lotion is cold, which it is, but the feel of Coulson's finger inside him is surprisingly nice. No had ever touched him there before, though Loki had tried, and he had expected it to feel weird. It's definitely not something he's used to, but he can't help enjoying the feeling of Phil stroking him from the inside.  
  
He's just getting used to the feeling when suddenly Phil's finger is gone. Clint opens his mouth to complain but is cut off by a small groan as a second finger joins the first, pushing inside him. There's a little bit of a stretch now and he can feel the tiniest flicker of pain as the muscles are opened up but it's quickly washed away as those long fingers start up an easy rhythm, sliding in and out of his with almost no resistance thanks to the lotion.

 

Coulson pulls Clint up against his chest, working his fingers up inside him as he holds him by the hair, and they look at one another in the mirror.

 

“I’m inside you,” Coulson grunts low, declaring it as if neither of them were already aware. He’s amazed that this is happening; he’s amazed that it’s actually adding to the fire curling inside him. And the way Clint’s expression is distorted with pleasure only fans his flames brighter. “I’m inside you, Barton.”

 

"Not enough." Clint moans before he can stop himself. It isn't enough, not when he knows what's waiting for him, but he hates sounding so desperate. He had thought he had wanted it when he had first met Coulson months ago, thought he wanted it even more when he walked in earlier, but that's nothing compared to how much he wants it now. Now that he has Phil's fingers inside him and he knows how good it feels.  
  
"Come on mac. You know you want it too." he pants, his head falling back onto Coulson's shoulder and turning just enough to press a quick kiss to the man's neck.

 

Coulson’s cock gives a throb and he grinds forward against the back of Clint’s thigh. He can’t deny himself any longer. He probably should have worked a third finger in, but maybe Clint will appreciate the burn.

 

He unzips his trousers and works his cock out, which is perhaps a little bit bigger than average, and a few pumps of the lotion later he’s slicked up and pressing into the cleft of Clint’s bottom. He pushes deep, slides down, teasing the back of Clint’s balls with the lotion-wet tip of his cock, driving between his thighs. He’s sticky and hot between his legs, and now Coulson is lifting and drumming the weight of his organ against Clint’s hole.

 

Every part of him a tease.

 

"You planning on taking all day or are you gonna get a move on back there?" Clint growls, pushing back a little in desperation. His cock has perked up interest again and he can feel the familiar need starting to coil around his body, though the usual focus has changed. His entire focus has shifted to that one spot, where Coulson's cock is currently teasing him.

 

“Don’t rush me,” Coulson says darkly, like he’s an artist taking his time on a fine painting.

 

He takes hold of himself and presses the soaked head to Clint’s hole, watching with interest as it tried to open up around him and swallow. Clint gives a needy whine; Coulson stills his pelvis with the hold on his hip.

 

Pushing, he breaches. Coulson rocks his head back with a heady moan, and fire is curling out of his body from the point of connection. Clint is open and ready around him, so Coulson takes his hair and pulls him back so he can watch his own face, watch his expression as he’s taken. Other hand still bruising on his hip, Coulson pushes in slowly, slowly, taking his time, filling Clint to the limit and breaking him.

 

"Yes," Clint hisses, his eyes fluttering shut. They snap open again as Coulson tugs at his hair again, ordering him once more to watch.

 

He looks into the mirror, watching as his own hips press back, urging Coulson deeper inside him. He doesn't want this to be slow and gentle. He wants to be filled, now, with one hard trust that forces the breath from his body and makes his eyes roll back.

 

"More." He urges, rocking a little into the contact.

 

Coulson is intrigued by Clint's impatience. He can't help but imagine what it must feel like from his position. His fingers tighten over the younger man's hip, his other hand tugging sharper at his hair, watching his adam's apple bob in the mirror as his throat is elongated. Coulson runs his tongue over his lips, jerking his hips forward to sheath that last few inches inside, and Clint lets out a wail that makes the older man's stomach flutter. 

 

"I'm all the way in, Barton," he grinds out between clenched teeth, his heart pulsing in his cock, and he knows Clint can feel it, because his thighs are trembling in time with the throbbing. 

 

"Feels good mac." Clint groans because damn it does. He's never felt this way in his life. Coulson is inside, filling him in a way he's never experienced before and he can't help but feel like they fit together perfectly. Like they were made for this. Even the burn of his stretched muscles only adds to his pleasure by reminding him constantly of their connection.  
  
"You know what feels even better?" he asks. He doesn't give Coulson a chance to answer. He rocks forward into the table, letting a few centimeters of Coulson slip out of him, before pressing back, taking him in again, hoping the other man will get the idea.

 

And oh, Coulson got the idea. He begins to thrust his hips forward fast and deep, the table banging against the wall rather loudly beneath Clint's hips. Still holding him up, he looks him in the eye in the mirror. "Like this?" he says, his voice dark and low and smooth. His hair is perfect, his face is severe, his eyes are bright, and his lips are quirked as he strokes deep, deep into Clint. He can hardly believe he's keeping his legs beneath him, they so badly want to buckle under the indescribable pressure rippling around his cock. The drinks on the table are splashing in their glasses, nearly dripping onto the table with the force of Coulson's thrusts. 

 

"Hands up," he suddenly commanded. "On the sides of the mirror. Hold yourself up."

 

Clint happily obeys, reaching up to place his hands on the wall on either side of the mirror. He worries that he's going to fall forward and smash into the glass so he locks his elbows, keeping his torso almost perfectly still while his hips move to meet Coulson's harsh thrusts.  
  
"Come on Coulson...give me all ya got..." he pants. He's hard again and already aching, desperate for release that only Phil can give him.

 

Both of Coulson’s hands fly to Clint’s hips, and he guides him strong, firm, hammering him deep against the wall. He watches Clint’s body rock in front of him, watches his face in the mirror, eyes half-lidded and mouth open. There’s a fog on the glass from his breath.

 

He plants his legs shoulder-width apart and steadies his upper half, driving his hips forward with all the strength and fervor his spine can afford to give.

 

Behind Clint Coulson shifts just a little and when he pushes back in he hits something that sends sparks shooting through Clint's body, making his toes curl in his shoes and his eyes roll back. His whole body shivers in response to the sudden wave of pleasure and he can't hold back a loud moan that normally would have been mortifying.  
  
"Do that again." he demands, his voice low and ragged.

 

Coulson moves one hand to Clint’s shoulder, keeping him steady, and he rolls his back again just like he did. He needs to hear that moan, that declaration of satisfaction, of desire. Hot, wet need.

 

He knows he’s hit it again because there goes Clint, moaning like a prostitute as he’s filled and filled and filled with Coulson’s cock. His expression is beautiful, wanton, like he’s never ever wanted anything so badly in his life.

 

He’s grinding at an almost upwards angle, nearly ripping Clint from his grip on the wall he’s pounding so hard, and he thanks the heavens that Maria’s gone on her lunch break for the next half hour still, because there would be no explaining Clint’s keening, desperate wails.

 

"Phil...I need... Fuck, _more"_ Clint groans, trying to articulate his desperation for release. He can feel the familiar tightening sensation, everything oiling together ready to explode as he finds his relief but he's not there yet. He's so close, right on the edge, and all he needs is for Coulson to give him that final push.

 

Suddenly he’s pulled upright by his hair once more, so hard it hurts perfect, and Coulson’s hand is tight on his cock. Not a good tight, a squeezing sort of tight that’s too tight to come. Icicles of pain are electrifying Clint’s pores wide open as Coulson continues to drive up into him, deeper than could be reached previously.

 

“I asked you politely not to curse,” he growls in Clint’s ear, dark and sinister and he looks him in the eye through the mirror, through the fading fog of Clint’s breath. “Did I not make myself clear?”

 

"Crystal..." Clint replies. He knows he should be worried about how much he's enjoying the pain but he can't be bothered right now. All he can think of is the pressure building inside him. "Sorry fella...couldn't help myself, it just feels so damn good."

 

Coulson’s eyes narrow in the mirror as Clint curses again.

 

He suddenly pushes him down _hard_ , face against the shiny wooden table top, holding him there with a strong hand to the back of his neck, pressing him down, bearing down on top of him, and he drives down into him harder than before.

 

He leans out, one hand on the table, pounding so deep, and he looks Clint in the eye for the first time without the aid of the mirror, and they’re on fire.

 

“If I’ve made myself so _clear_ ,” he punctuates with powerful thrusts, claiming Clint and pinning him at once. “Then why do you _continue_ to blaspheme?”

 

Clint moans again, even louder now. He loves how forceful Phil is being. Despite being pinned down he can't help a growing sense of power. He's never seen Phil so undone before and it's fantastic.  
  
"Love it when you get rough." Clint starts to laugh but it turns into another long moan as Coulson hits that spot again. "It feels better when you're not holding back."

 

And then Coulson does the unthinkable.

 

He pulls his knee up onto the table beside Clint, hoists him up higher so his hips are on the surface as well and his legs are buckled, helpless, and he’s driving down so hard and fast Clint wouldn’t be surprised if his spine was shattered.

 

His hand still hard on the back of his neck, his eyes still burning bright, he’s forceful and animalistic in his thrusts, and Clint thinks he can see his face finally flushing a little bit.

 

“You are irredeemable,” he hisses, teeth closed.

 

" _Yes,_ " Clint hisses. He's desperately scrambling to find some purchase on the table, anything he can use to get some leverage so he can grind back against Coulson every time the man thrusts into him. "You like it, don't ya?" Clint asks. He fights Coulson's grip enough so he can turn his head and see a little of Coulson out of the corner of his eye.

 

“I do,” Coulson admits, and Clint nearly comes apart when he watches a bead of sweat roll down his forehead, slide down his throat, and disappear into the collar of his immaculate suit.

 

"You wanna do this all the time, don't you mac?" Clint asks. He rolls his hips back against Coulson and shivers at the low groan that escaped the other man. "You wanna hold me down and punish me for having such a dirty mouth."

 

“Maybe next time I’ll actually _jazz_ your mouth,” Coulson’s eyes narrow again, and he’s actually panting now, in time with every strong thrust down and in. 

 

That struck a cord with Clint, making him go still beneath Coulson.  
  
He had said next time. Clint hadn't even thought this would really happen today, let alone thinking about next time. But that means Coulson wants this to happen again as much as Clint does and he's not about to let that opportunity pass him by.  
  
"Whatever you want Coulson." Clint groans. "Next time you can jazz whatever you want."

 

Coulson releases Clint’s neck, and the younger man pushes up, arches, molds and bows his form to Phil’s curved body, and they rock together those last few, final thrusts, until Clint’s coming against the side of the table, and Coulson lets out the moan to end all moans as he rides himself deep inside Clint. Staining him and claiming him.

 

They roll their bodies slowly, connected, thrumming, gently gliding there and back again, their bodies pulsing and slowing until finally they’ve come back down as one and they still.

 

Their panting synchs as they try to remember how to breathe properly. Coulson lifts a hand to thread tenderly through Clint’s hair, and now he’s kissing the side of his jaw and petting his hip and holding his back tight against his chest.

 

“Never been with anyone like you before,” Coulson murmurs, “I don’t just mean you’re a man, you’re… a breath of air,” He’s still kissing his jaw, his throat, “I want you, I want to take and keep you. Don’t think you can say no, I won’t let you. I won’t let you get away,”

 

Now that he has it, he needs to keep it. It’s more thrilling and wonderful and terrifying than anything he’s ever experienced, and in his 42 years he’s got a laundry list of thrilling, wonderful, terrifying things.

 

Clint pulls away a little, wincing as Coulson slides out of him. Then he turns and leans against the table, placing his hands on the older man's hips and smirking.  
  
"If we get caught we're gonna be in a lot of trouble." he said before leaning in to kiss Coulson's neck. He isn't comfortable saying what he wants outright yet but he figures Coulson will understand anyway.

 

“If we’re caught being part of the _mob_ we’ll be in a lot of trouble. But that isn’t stopping us,” Coulson says with a devious sort of smile. He takes Clint by the chin and looks him in the eye for a moment before leaning in to press a kiss to his lips, and he decides that he rather likes the sensation.

 

Clint smiles into the kiss and pulls Coulson just little bit closer. He'd kissed Loki once or twice and necking with Tasha had been required but he had never enjoyed it like this. Coulson's lips are soft and the kiss is void of any desperation or demands. It's just sweet and Clint really likes it.  
  
"I threw Natasha out." Clint says when they break away from each other. "Got the apartment all to myself. Wouldn't mind having you stop by when you get outta the office."

 

Coulson raises his eyebrows with an unreadable smile. “I think I can do that,” he says as he straightens his trousers and tucks himself back inside, zipping his fly. He pulls Clint’s trousers up as well and zips them. He’s not ready to pull away just yet, and he holds him by the hips and just _looks_ at him.

 

His jaw is strong, it’s got a light stubble. His eyes are sunken behind bags – stress? Sleep deprivation? Coulson wants to sleep beside Clint. His irises are hazel and soft as sand. Eyelashes, thick, lace them from corner to corner. He has lines on his forehead, laugh lines, he is not a young, young man.

 

He’s rather perfect, Coulson decides. Full, lovely lips, perfect for kissing. So he does, again.

 

Clint enjoys the soft press of lips for a moment before they're interupted by a knock on the door. Clint quickly pulls back and pushes Coulson away, reaching for a drink at the same time.  
  
"Looks like Maria's back." he says, emptying half the glass in one go. "I should go. See you tonight?"

 

The door opens just as Coulson is handed his drink, and Maria is holding an envelope and looking completely inconspicuous. They’re safe.

 

“Thank you Maria,” he says with a smile as she hands him the envelope. As soon as she’s gone from the doorway, Coulson boldly leans forward and kisses Clint on the mouth, running his tongue across his lower lip to collect the taste of alcohol. “Tonight,” he says with a nod, and turns to go back to his desk, envelope in hand.

 

Clint smiles and heads for the door, knowing Coulson is staring at his ass as he walks. He gets to the door and then stops, one hand on the frame. Coulson has already agreed to meet with him tonight. He should be happy with that. He's going to have two amazing sexual encounters in one day with a man he has a legitimate interest in. That should be enough.  
  
But he wants more. And maybe Coulson does too.  
  
"How 'bout I make us dinner? Spaghetti alright?" he asks over his shoulder, not turning to look Coulson in the eye.

 

Coulson smiles. “You cook?” he asks, and he already knows the answer. “I’ll wait to eat then. I like spaghetti.”

 

He lifts his crystal-topped letter opener and begins to tear open the envelope, never looking away from the back of Clint’s head in case he decides to turn around and look at him again. He thinks he could probably get lost in those hazel eyes pretty easily.

 

Clint give him a quick nod and a half smile before walking out, closing the door behind him. He passes Maria and shoots her a flirty wink before leaving the building and heading for the nearest grocer.

 

Dinner was great.

 

The sex was better.

 

Clint rode Coulson hard on the couch, bouncing on top of him like he’d been doing it all his life. They fell asleep like that, Natasha was long gone, and she even left her key. Clint suspected she’d made a copy of it, so he made a note to get the lock changed.

 

The next day he was afraid Coulson would act like nothing happened, seeing as he was so polite and formal as he got ready to go to the office in the morning. He’d given Clint a little kiss on the cheek, like he was his wife, and he was gone.

 

Dishes still in the sink, cushions on the couch a little askew, the smell of marinara sauce and sex lingering all around the apartment.

 

It had been a good night.

 

They couldn't get together often. It was a dangerous game they were playing and they had to keep a certain distance from each other, make it seem like nothing had changed.  
  
They didn't get another chance to be together until Tony gave them both a job overseeing some shipments down by the docks. Clint had gotten impatient and dragged Coulson away from the others. They kissed behind a stack of crates before Clint dropped to his knees and took the other man in his mouth.  
  
It was dangerous and it was stupid and they both couldn't get enough.  
  
Afterwards he took Coulson back to the apartment to get cleaned up and they ended up sharing his bed for the night.

 

And it wasn’t all sex, either. They went out to dinner in restaurants a couple times, but they had to bring work with them so they would seem like two business associates. They wished they could feed each other like the other couples did all around them, but they had to keep it to violating each other mercilessly with their eyes.

 

Sometimes they went and had drinks together in one of Tony’s classy speakeasies, and they would rub shoes together under the clothed tables as they listened to the saxophone players.

 

It seemed like it was all sex most of the time, because opportunities to hold one another came so few and far between that they took every chance they got. Coulson gave head for the first time in the back of a train, with his fingers stuffed in Clint’s mouth to keep him quiet.

 

Somethings started to bother Clint though. Usually when they found a night together they ended up spending the night in his place. He didn't mind having Coulson over, loved it even, but he couldn't ignore the fact that it was always his place. Never Coulson's.  
  
He didn't even know where Coulson lived.  
  
One night it becomes too much and he has to bring it up. They're lying in Clint's bed after dinner and a few rounds on the couch, Coulson reading a book while Clint mends a tear in one of shirts, when he stops and turns to the man beside him.  
  
"Why don't we ever go to your place? You aren't married are ya?" he asks, half jokingly.

 

Coulson smiles and closes the book. He never uses a book mark. Coulson would never forget where he was, he never loses his place.

 

“Not really,” he says. He can’t help but enjoy the startled beginnings of jealousy creeping into Clint’s expression. “I tell most people I have a wife. I’m sure you’ve seen the gold ring I wear around the workplace. I fabricated myself a wife years ago. I get extra benefits, and it’s especially handy now that I’m sneaking around with you. It’s on my file with Tony, as far as he knows I’m married to a woman named Joanna. She lives in Scotland working with orphans and I only get to see her a few times a year.” He gives a devious sort of smile. “She’s got a bank account, a social security number, high school records, a birth certificate… she’s my pretend wife. That doesn’t bother you, does it? She and I have a very open relationship. In fact I’m pretty sure she’s cheating on me with another man.”

 

"Or woman." Clint teases. He moves a little closer and rests his head on Coulson's shoulder. He likes being close like this. It feels good,  being able to just lie there with no expectations. He has more in mind than just snuggling now. He hopes it'll disarm Coulson and he'll be able to get an answer out of him.

 

"That doesn't change the fact that we've never been to your place. Ya ain't homeless are ya?" He asks.

 

“No, I’m not homeless.” Coulson laughs. “I live in a hotel. Bought a suite. I didn’t want to be bringing a man up to my room alone, so we come here where no one will see anything.”

 

Clint nods. It's a reasonable explanation. He's heard of people who've made their homes in hotels. In a lot of ways its easier. Fewer bills and it's already furnished. All in all not a bad way to live.  
  
"Which hotel? Maybe I'll scrape together some time and come surprise you." Clint asks.

 

“Hotel Valhalla.” Coulson says, “On the corner of 51st and Maddison. It’s one of those in the chain run by Odin inc.” he lazily drags his fingers through Clint’s hair.

 

"I know that hotel. Real swanky joint. Musta cost you." Clint says, a little suspicious. Tony doesn't even pay him enough to afford a room at a place like that for more than a night or two. He certainly couldn't live there and he's one of Tony's favorites. "Family money or you got something else on the side? If you're working for Loki I'm going to have to kill you now."

 

Coulson’s expression is bitter. He suddenly begins to un-button his shirt. Clint’s eyes widen, he’s never seen Coulson without his shirt on. He’s gotten his trousers off once or twice, but he _always_ keeps his shirt on.

 

And now he sees why. There’s a scar in his chest, right beside his left nipple, long as Clint’s hand and wide as a finger.

 

“Loki and I don’t get along,” he says, his voice even.

 

Clint leans forward and places his hand on Coulson's chest, beside the scar. It's not the only imperfection there. Thin white lines from even older wounds mar his lover's chest, hidden among the light smattering of soft hair. There are even more on his stomach and what looks a bullet graze on his left side. The wound he showed Clint is by far the worst though.  
  
Yet none of them detract from Coulson's overall desirability or ruin the tenderness Clint feels at being able to touch his lover in this way.  
  
Slowly Clint leans in and presses his lips to the old wound.

 

Coulson chuckles lightly and runs his fingers through Clint’s hair again. “I’ve got one on my back to match it. This one almost killed me.” He taps his finger against the scar, meeting Clint’s gaze when he looks up curiously. “Through-and-through with a _sword_ if you can believe it. I was almost as startled as I was in pain. You don’t have to worry about me running off to work for Loki. As far as he knows, I’m dead.”

 

Clint sighs with relief and sags against Coulson a little. He shouldn't be glad that Loki tried to kill Phil but he is. He has his own problems with Loki and if he finds out Clint is seeing someone there's no doubt he'll do whatever it takes to put an end to it. But if he thinks Coulson is dead there's less of a chance the man will get hurt.

 

Coulson closes his eyes with a content smile. “No, I get the money from a previous job I had. I still get checks, and I’m not shy about using them. We have a deal,” he looks very pleased with himself. “But I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

 

"Top secret huh?" Clint laughs. He traces Coulson's scar with his finger and smiles. "Well I like my fellas with some mystery to them."

 

“Fellas?” Coulson raises an eyebrow. “Have you had another in the past?” he can’t decide if he’s jealous.

 

Clint shifts uncomfortably. He hates talking about his past and that particular chapter is one he would prefer Phil never hear about. But he doesn't want to lie either so he nods.

 

"One. It wasn't very good when we started and even worse when it ended. I'd rather not talk about it."

 

“Fair enough.” Coulson says. At least he knows he’s already doing better than whomever the other man was. “Let’s be done talking then,” and he captures Clint’s lips in a kiss.

 

Clint smiles into the kiss and sits up so he can swing one leg over Coulson's thighs so he's straddling his lap. His hands traverse the newly discovered territory of Coulson's chest and he plans to spend the rest of the evening staking his claim to it.

 

Coulson liked kissing Clint. He kissed him whenever he could. He would boldly sneak smooches when other people left them in a room alone. He would steal a peck when no one was looking.

 

And it wasn’t just kissing, either. He would sometimes full-on grope Clint’s thigh when they were in the back of a cab together. Or sometimes when they were in an elevator together, even if there were other people, he would subtly slide a hand over Clint’s ass and give it a playful little squeeze. He knew the sense of danger made Clint’s heart race, and he would rut against Coulson that much more forcefully the next time they got the chance.

 

The next morning Phil leaves early and Clint waits an hour before going down to grab his mail. It's safer if no one sees them together as little as possible. Especially when Phil spent the night in his place. It's annoying and inconvenient but when Clint opens his mail he's thankful that Coulson isn't there.  
  
He recognizes the handwriting on the envelope and that alone makes him suddenly go as white as the paper itself. He's seen his name written that way more times than he would care to remember. He rips the envelope open and scans the letter, not reading, just looking for any mention of Phil or any guy who he's been hanging around with. There's nothing. Loki might know where he lives but he hasn't found out about Phil yet. They're still safe.

 

_Dear Clint,_

_I’m going to assume my other attempts to contact you have fallen vain through no fault of your own. I’m sure you already know what I’m going to say, so I’ll be brief. I want you to come home. I’ll match whatever Stark’s paying you; I’ll even pay you more. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to have you back. And I’m prepared to do worse if I don’t. I don’t want to wake up to an empty bed anymore. I need you back. I miss you._

_Loki_

 

It was short and to the point. Loki was obsessed. He’d been trying to get Clint to work for him again for months, making this and that attempt through other people. This was the most direct way he’d ever tried to contact him since Clint left.

 

Clint tears up the letter and throws it away. He'll have to move. There's no way he can stay here, knowing Loki probably has the place under surveillance. He can't take anything. He'll be followed if he moves out. One bag, not too large or it'll be suspicious, with just the essentials. Everything else will have to be left behind.  
  
He starts packing, wondering where he'll go. A hotel maybe. Maybe he can get a room like Phil has, not as fancy though, where he can stay. It'll make moving easier if that's going to be his life now.  
  
He stops suddenly. Phil. Phil left only an hour ago. One of Loki's goons could have seen him. He could already be hurt.  
  
Frantically he rushes for the phone and has the operator direct him to Phil's office.

 

“Office of Mr. Coulson, Maria speaking.” His secretary picked up the phone on the first ring. “Who’s calling?”

 

"Barton. I got a message for Coulson from Tony." Clint lies, knowing Maria won't ask any more questions.

 

“Mr. Coulson hasn’t come to the office yet today, can I take a message?” Maria says, already reaching for a pad and pen.

 

Clint doesn't answer. He hangs up and grabs his coat. Phil should have been there twenty minutes ago. If he isn't there then something must have stopped him along the way.  
  
He picks out Coulson's preferred route to his office from Clint's place and starts following the familiar path, looking for anything that might be out of the ordinary.

 

And then there, pulled over on the side of the road, is his car. He’s standing directly beside it with a very irate expression, the front tire popped flat. He’s bickering with a repairman, and completely healthy and alive.

 

Clint is so happy he's almost crying. He barely manages to stop himself from running to Coulson and kissing him there on the street. He does go over and lay a hand on his shoulder, reassuring himself that he's really there.  
  
"Come on fella, why don't you leave it for now?" he asks. "Let the guy do his work while you go do yours. I'll even walk you to your office."

 

“He wants me to pay him extra because he insists my car is _heavier_. He’s trying to get extra money out of me because he can tell I’m well off.” Coulson says bitterly. “I’m not paying five extra dollars because he thinks my car is _heavier_.”

 

"I'll get Stark to pay for it." Clint assures him. He knows he can too. Tony still feels bad about what happened with Natasha even though Clint has told him he's forgiven him.

 

Coulson can tell at this point that Clint is trying very hard to remove him from the situation. He can see panic in the corners of his eyes, he watches his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare. He can see his pulse pounding in his throat.

 

“Alright,” he says with a short nod. “We’ll walk.”

 

They head away from the street after Coulson gives the repairman an address and a phone number. They make it half a block before he discreetly pulls Clint into an alley, and they round a corner for total privacy.

 

“What’s this about?” he asks, his tone cautious.

 

"Nothing. I know you hate being late and Tony still thinks he owes me." Clint says with a shrug. He hates lying to Phil but he doesn't want him to get involved in any of this and if he tells him he knows Coulson won't let the matter go.

 

Phil’s eyes narrow. “And? What else?” he presses on. He can see it in Clint’s eyes, the way they shift, he can hear it in his uneven breathing, he can feel it in the scuffing of his shoes against the pavement. There’s still something there, bubbling under the surface of Clint’s mind, something bothering him. There’s something wrong.

 

"I don't want you out on the street too much. You told me you have problems with Loki and some of his goons have been seen around here." Clint says. It's closer to the truth. Loki's been around and Coulson is in danger. He didn't even lie, other than to omit the part about his and Loki's relationship.

 

Coulson still looks unconvinced. “I’m fairly sure I can handle myself against the cut-rate thugs that Loki dredges out of the scum of this city.”

 

"You only carry one gun Phil. And Loki's got good men on his side." Clint shoots back. "I'm trying to look out for you. I don't want to see you get hurt."

 

“I appreciate the sentiment.” Coulson says and starts on his way back out of the alley. “However, you underestimate me.”

 

And just like that, he was gone, the clicking of his shoes blending into the clicking of everyone else’s.

 

Clint watches him go and climbs up the nearest fire escape. He follows Coulson to his office before going back home to finish packing. If Phil isn't going to listen to him then he's going to have to step in and watch him himself.

 

Coulson knew Clint was stalking him. Stealthy as he was, he wasn’t exactly an expertly trained ninja. Closest thing Tony had under his wings, but a circus acrobat wasn’t light as shadow. He didn’t give away that he knew Clint was following him, though, he let him continue to think he was doing right by hiding around corners and behind dumpsters.

 

Over time, however, he can’t help but feel a little uneasy. Clint is thoroughly convinced that he was in danger. He isn’t so sure, seeing as he hasn’t seen a single one of Loki’s hooligans around in days. But clearly, Clint knows something he doesn’t.

 

Clint hasn’t invited him back to his place for days now. In fact, he hasn’t talked to Coulson _at all_ for days. Something is significantly out of place, and it’s making Clint as nervous as a March hare during hunting season.

 

“Alright, Barton,” Coulson corners him one day in the basement of Stark’s building, where he was moving shipments in late at night. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Clint sees that he actually took his shoes off and had been creeping around in his stocking feet so Clint wouldn’t panic and run. “You’ve not only been avoiding me, but I’m pretty positive you’ve been lying to me. Explain.”

 

"I don't know what you're talking about." Clint says casually, trying to keep cool.

 

He knew this would happen, has been dreading it for weeks. Phil isn't dumb and sooner or later he was going to start asking questions and here they are. He doesn't want to keep playing this game and risk losing Phil but its better than seeing him get hurt.

 

“You tell me now, or I assume the worst and I’m out.” Coulson means business, his tone is serious. There’s hurt in his eyes.

 

"No!" Clint says a little too loudly. He reaches out and grabs Phil's arm, as if to force him to stay. Like he's going to walk away right now and Clint will never see him again. He can't let that happen.  
  
He sighs and shifts a little, looking down at the ground. He can't keep hiding it forever.  
  
"You know I worked for Loki for a while right? Before I got my head out of my ass and Stark hired me?" he starts quietly.

 

“I’ve read the records,” Coulson says, and he lets Clint hold on to his sleeve for now. It’s a comfort to them both. “This is about you more than it’s about me, isn’t it?”

 

"Yeah." Clint nods. He's still looking at the ground, refusing to meet Phil's eyes. He'll probably hate him after this. Clint honestly wouldn't blame him if he did. "You remember the fella I told you about, the one who things ended badly with? That was Loki."

 

Coulson’s brows lifted, and he took a step back. “You were intimate with Loki? Oh, that’s a bad move. He’s notorious for being… possessive. Is that what this is about? You’re worried he’s going to find out about us? We’ve been careful.”

 

Clint crosses his arms again and slouches in on himself, like he wants to disappear.  
  
"He found my place. He left me a letter. He wants me back real bad. He says he misses me and wants me home and he'll do whatever it takes to get me back. I had to move. Left all my stuff behind and sneaked out. If he found out about you he'd kill you. That's why I've been so scared."

 

Coulson sucks in a slow breath as he lets this news sink in. Clint wasn’t wrong to think that their relationship is in jeopardy, moreso than usual. He steeples his fingers over his nose and leans back against a crate, closing his eyes in thought.

 

“Okay,” he says, “Okay. This isn’t the end of the world. We just… we need to be more careful. I can lay down some lies, I can make it look legal. You could get with a girl on the side, make it look legitimate. Of course that would be putting her in danger.” He blows out sharply and pinches his nose. “What did you have in mind? We can’t just hide for the rest of our lives.”

 

Clint hadn't had anything in mind. As far as things with Loki went he had one strategy, stay as far away as possible. But running wasn't an option anymore. Not when he has Coulson. He won't lose the other man, not because some idiot with a gun is still living in the past.  
  
"I could take him out." Clint says quietly. "If I got close enough to him. I could do it."

 

“That’s a dangerous idea, Clint, I won’t let you keep thinking like that. Loki has a web of deceit spun tightly around him, and you’d get caught up before you get within fifty feet.” Coulson says, and he takes Clint by the shoulders and looks him in the eye. “I’m not going to tell you I’m in love with you, but I won’t hesitate to admit that I feel sick thinking about living without you at this point. I’m not going to lose you to a snake like Loki.”

 

"I won't lose you either." Clint says, looking away. He doesn't want to look Coulson in the eye right now. The man has an uncanny knack for reading what he's thinking when they're making eye contact and Clint can't have that now. It would ruin everything.  
  
Because he is in love with Phil, and hearing him say flat out that he won't say it hurts. Coulson wants to keep him, and that's great, but it isn't the same as loving him.

 

Coulson begins to pace, and he starts to think out loud. He doesn’t finish any of his sentences, they all string one into the next, fluctuating in volume and intensity.

 

He eventually comes to a halt and sits on a crate, feeling thoroughly winded and more than a little panicked. He runs his hands through his short, dark hair, and Clint’s sure it’s the first time he’s ever seen it mussed.

 

Coulson is scared. He’s usually so collected, but now he’s hunched and breathing erratically, muttering, and Clint thinks he can see him shaking.

 

"Phil!" Clint says finally, grabbing Coulson's arm to make him stop. "You need to cool it. You're scaring me."  
  
He isn't lying, though he hates to admit being scared. This is why he didn't want to tell Coulson in the first place. Because he would either drop him or never let it go and let Clint handle things. He's the kind of guy who gets himself worked up and when people get worked up they get sloppy. Or mean. Both of which will only lead to disaster.

 

Coulson looks up with strange eyes, and they immediately flicker down to the pack of cigarettes in Clint’s shit pocket. The younger man gets the idea instantly and takes one out for him, slipping it between his lips and lighting it with a match.

 

Coulson doesn’t smoke much, only when he’s stressed. He thinks this counts.

 

He runs his other hand through his hair the other way to smooth it, and breathes in deeply. Only after a long exhale sends smoke curling away from him does he seem to relax.

 

“Alright. So if you’re serious about putting the hit on Loki yourself, we have to be careful about it. But we’re not going to discuss it if you’re not serious about it.” He says, his voice is more even now.

 

"I'm serious." Clint replies. He's never been more serious about anything in his life. He's lost too much already, he isn't going to let Loki take something else. "I'm not gonna keep running like a coward." he says, taking out another cigarette for himself.

 

Coulson nods and takes another deep breath of smoke, feeling himself calm just a little bit more. “Alright. You’re going to need to get in close. Tell Tony your plan so he doesn’t freak out when you agree to go work for Loki again. Maybe even get him to play along, I’m know he doesn’t like Loki and will do his part to make this whole thing seem… genuine.” He sighs and massages his brow. “This is dangerous, Clint, this is so dangerous.”

 

"I'm used to dangerous." Clint says with a shrug. His whole life has been dangerous. He's always moved from one bad situation to the next without ever looking back. Not this time though. He smiles and leans in to press a quick kiss to Coulson's cheek. "And I've got something to come back to this time."

 

Coulson takes Clint by the back of the head and pulls him down into a move fervent kiss, the smoke mingling in their mouths as they breathe into one another. Their mouths are connected for several long, long seconds, and Clint is almost straddling Coulson by the end of it.

 

They share eye contact for a moment before Coulson gives a hopeful little smile. “Tell Loki you’ve accepted his offer. Then let Tony in on it, and then get in close to him. It may take a few weeks, but try to charm yourself into a position where you’re alone with him, and you can get out safely. Then you come home to me.”

 

Clint sighs and leans against Coulson. "It won't take weeks. Loki wants me as his lover again. That's what he misses. He thinks he loves me."

 

“That’s a frightening thought,” Coulson is still holding the back of Clint’s neck and they share the taste of the smoke that curls from his mouth. “But you need to have cover. Loki has to have one or two faithful follower, and if you show up and Loki’s dead in the next day you’re going to have more problems coming out than you had going in.”  

 

"I don't want to be his lover again." Clint says. He's gripping Coulson's shirt, wrinkling the fabric, and he doesn't care. It doesn't matter because this is Coulson and he won't get angry about it. Even if he does get angry he won't say anything or lash out. That's one of the reasons Clint loves him.

 

Coulson sighs, and blows smoke out his nose. “You might not have a choice.” He says bitterly, and sets his free hand on Clint’s hip, making sure the lit end of the cigarette wasn’t anywhere near his shirt. “The question is… what lengths are you willing to go to?”

 

There's really no question there. Clint will do anything to get Loki off his back and to stop jumping at shadows or waking up from dreams of finding Coulson dead in some alley. He'll do anything as long as he won't have to worry about losing Phil.  
  
"If I have to you won't leave me will ya?" he asks.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Coulson says without missing a beat. He can see the hurt, hidden deep in those hazel eyes. So deep, Clint probably doesn’t remember what it’s like to not be hurt. “I’ll be waiting for you when you finish the job, so you’d better be careful.”

 

"I know how to handle myself." Clint says with a smirk before leaning in to kiss Coulson again. He doesn't know when the next time he'll be able to do so will be so he's not going to pass up a chance when he has it.  
  
"I'll go tell Tony now, alright?" he says when they break away from each other.

 

“Mh, in a minute.” Coulson says, tugging at Clint’s hip and drawing him down into his lap, straddling him on the side of the crate. “Let’s just… enjoy each other’s company for a while first.”

 

By which he means, of course, “let’s screw because this could be our last chance.”

 

And Clint isn’t going to argue. They’re quiet and slow this time, rocking into one another, cigarettes bit down between clenched teeth as Clint rides him slowly, luxuriously, and he really takes his time. The crate creaks and Coulson groans, and they come together.

 

Afterwards Clint kisses Coulson one more time. It's slow and languid and he feels it even after he's pulled away and made himself presentable for Tony. It's a good luck charm, he decides as he climbs the stairs to his boss's office. It might be something he starts doing before every big job, because he can pretend it'll keep him safe.

 

Tony was quiet while Clint explained his situation – leaving out the bits about being Loki’s ex lover. He kept his fingers steepled in front of his lips and his brow in a firm line, and he listened. Clint was honest about his fealty to Tony, and the boss understood graciously.

 

“I trust you,” he said, “And I hate Loki. Make me proud.”

 

And before Clint knows it, he’s on his way to Loki’s headquarters. Loki was thrilled to hear Clint’s voice over the phone, and it sounds like he’s about ready to burst when he ushers Clint back into his building.

 

“I’m _so_ happy you’ve decided to come home,” Loki says, his voice is like frozen honey. They’re back in Loki’s office, and Clint feels uncomfortable recognition wash over him. There’s the arrow tip he brought back for Loki when the slender, swanky boss had sent him on his very first ever hit. Christ, that was almost ten years ago. Loki trails a finger over Clint’s jaw and sits at the edge of the desk. “I’ve _missed_ you.”

 

"I should never've left." Clint lies. He considers resting his hand on Loki's thigh but thinks that might be pushing it and places it on the man's knee instead. "Stark's got no idea what he's doing. And he hooked up with the doll I was with after I left here. Can't trust a man after something like that. Never had that sort of trouble here though."

 

Loki’s lips spread into a sweet, venomous sort of smile. “I wouldn’t do such a thing to you, Clint,” he says, brushing a little hair from his forehead. Flashes of nights where Loki would hold Clint down and humiliate him, make him beg for release, are brought to the forefront of his mind. Loki is as two-faced as a coin. “I would never hurt you like that. I would never betray you. So… why did you leave me?”

 

"Got scared." Clint says. That's the honest truth. He had been scared. Loki had been getting meaner and more possessive and Clint had been in enough bad situations to realize when it was time to get out. "Things were getting serious and I wasn't ready. Stark was nearby and he paid well. It was convenient." That was a lie. Gaining Stark's trust and getting any kind of job had been even harder than getting away from Loki in the first place.  
  
He steps a little closer and the hand on Loki's knees moves up an inch or two. "I know I made a mistake. But I'm back and I'm going to make it up to you."

 

“Right now?” Loki asks, his hand moves up to cup Clint’s jaw. His eyes are shining a bright, icy blue green. It’s nothing like Coulson’s blue eyes, which are warm and deep. His eyes are shallow and cold and sharp. Like the pointed ends of icicles, while they’re frosted and still too cold to drip. “Are you going to make it up to me right now, Clint?”

 

Clint swallows thickly. He doesn't know why he said that but he can't back out now. So he nods and the hand on Loki's leg is now on his hip, pulling him a little closer to Clint.  
  
"If that's what you want boss."

 

“Lock the door,” Loki demands, and he’s moving back behind his desk, already stripping himself of his tie and long, grey jacket, releasing his long black hair from its tie to spill over his shoulders.

 

Clint does so without a word. If it were Coulson he'd take his time, say something teasing and sarcastic about Coulson always needing to be in charge but not with Loki. Coulson's orders are always gentle, with enough question in them for Clint to refuse if he wants which only makes him want to obey more. Orders from Loki are like bullets. They go right through you, no time for argument and if you don't act quickly enough they can be fatal.  
  
The door is locked and Clint turns around, knowing better than to do anything else until Loki tells him to.

 

Loki is sitting on the desk, his back turned, and he’s pulling his shirt off his slim shoulders, showing off his paper-white, flawless back to the other man. It’s nothing like Coulson’s scarred, tanner flesh.

 

He looks over his shoulder at Clint with a come-hither expression, his expression is almost soft. Like he’s beckoning his lover of years and years to his side, like he’s truly a man in love.

 

“Come to me, Clint.”

 

And Clint does. He goes to Loki and kisses his pale shoulders and neck and makes him sigh and moan and it doesn't sound right. It's closed and sounds like a man who won a prize. It's nothing like how Coulson sounds.  
  
He stands there while Loki undresses him like a doll. Each layer peeled back and thrown onto the floor. Then Loki's hands are on him and they're nothing like Coulson's hands. They're too small and bony and his nails are too sharp and they draw blood when they rake down his spine.  
  
Then there's Loki's mouth, biting, licking, marking but never kissing. Never loving. Always possessive and never kind, even when he whispers in Clint's ear. Every other word is _mine,_ and Clint knows that if Loki had it his way he wouldn't even belong to himself anymore.  
  
Then Loki's bare legs are around him and he's thrusting into that warm, tight, space and he feels wrong. Loki's moaning orders and Clint follows them to the letter but it's all he can do to keep it up. It's nothing like having Coulson inside him. Then he feels complete and safe. Here with Loki he feels disconnected, like he isn't really there.  
  
Then they're done and Loki's come is drying on his skin and he thinks he's going to be sick.

 

Loki lies languidly over his desk, stretched out and skinny as a kitten, looking terribly pleased with himself. He trails his foot up the back of Clint’s thigh and gives him a sleepy sort of content smile.

 

“I always knew you wouldn’t be gone forever,” Loki purred almost drunkenly. “I knew you’d come back to me. This is where you belong, Clint. You belong to me.” When Clint didn’t say anything, Loki’s lips pulled into a small frown and he sat up on his desk, taking Clint by the chin and forcing him to look him in the eye. “Say it, Clint.”

 

Clint reaches up and strokes Loki's hair, hoping he'll blame his hesitation on the post coital high instead of noticing his disgust. He's not going to get out of saying it, no matter how much the words pain him, but maybe he can lessen whatever punishment Loki is formulating in his head.  
  
"I belong to you." he chokes out.

 

Loki seems pleased by this, and his expression softens again. “Yes, Clint, that wasn’t so hard,” he says, petting the sides of his neck where Loki left countless bite marks that would likely bruise. “You’re so good, such a good boy for me.” he kisses Clint’s forehead, and then he’s on his feet, and he’s getting dressed.

 

"Anything I need to do boss?" Clint asks, hoping the answer will be no so he can leave. He desperately wants a shower so he can scrub as much of this encounter away as he possibly can.

 

“Hm, just give me a kiss and you can go,” Loki says. Clint moves to obey, but Loki stops him as he moves in for his cheek. “No, Clint, not there,” he says, and his lips pucker ever so slightly.

 

Clint halts, unable to move. He's never kissed Loki. Even before, when Loki had been the most satisfying relationship he'd ever had he'd never kissed the man. Not on the lips. That was what had made it so special with Coulson. His lips had been uncharted territory, the only place left that Loki hadn't corrupted. He can't ruin that now. He can't give to Loki what has only ever bee Coulson's. Kissing him would ruin everything. It would break the good luck charm, corrupting the special spell they had made before Clint had left. Letting Loki kiss him there would be the end of everything.  
  
But he had said he would do anything. He knows he can't back out of something so simple without giving himself away. If Loki figures out it's all a ruse he'll be dead before sundown.  
  
So he leans in and pecks Loki on the lips.

 

Loki is very pleased that Clint did as he said, and lets him go without any further orders, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

 

Their relationship went back to how it was, how it had been. Loki used every drop of Clint that he could suck up, used him up dry. Clint remembered how it felt to be under Loki’s watch again very quickly, and within 48 hours, he felt like a dry shell of a man. He longed for Coulson to rehydrate him with his touch, with his kisses.

 

Loki would take and take and take him every night, ride him and possess him and milk him dry. Clint took small comfort in the fact that Loki never asked to enter Clint like Coulson did. He might have to mission abort right then and there if he ever tried.

 

There were some things he had to allow to belong to only Phil.

 

One such night, while Clint is lying on his back and feeling filthy and debauched, and Loki is curled beside him tracing lines through the scars on his torso, Loki suddenly catches sight of a faded bruise on Clint’s hip.

 

“Is this a hickey?” Loki laughs, prodding at it. “It’s at least a week old. Where were _you_ last week?”

 

He tries to sound non-chalant about it. He wants to know if he’s got any competition out there that Clint just recently left behind. He can’t afford to lose Clint again, not after he’s just got him back.

 

Clint's mind goes blank. Coulson had given him that mark shortly before he'd left. He couldn't tell Loki that though. If Loki knew he'd have Coulson killed.  
  
He has to lie. He knows that but he can't think of anything. It's just a lie, it should be easy. He's been lying for years. But right now all he can think is _Coulson_.  
  
He manages to push through that haze and stammer out a lie about the girl he had been with before he found out she was sleeping with Tony but he can tell Loki isn't buying it.

 

Loki’s eyes are narrowed and dangerous as he looks over Clint’s tight expression and body language.

 

He’s hiding something.

There’s competition out there, alright. If Clint’s lying about him or her, then he’s trying to keep them safe. Which means he _cares_.

Loki doesn’t want Clint to care about anything but Loki. If he crushes everything else he cares about, Clint will eventually understand that it’s not worth it to care about anything other than Loki.

 

“What was her name?” he asks, throwing Clint off guard.

 

"Na-Natalia." Clint answers, glad he didn't give away Natasha's real name by accident. They might not be together anymore, and he didn't like her that much when they were together, but he doesn't want to see her get hurt because of him either.  
  
"Her name is Natalia. Doll's got some Russian last name, never bothered to learn it." he adds, wrapping an arm around Loki and pulling him a little closer. "Doesn't matter now anyway, right?"

 

Loki’s lips curl into a catlike smile. Clint’s still lying to him, but that’s alright, because he’s trying to make up for it. He likes the feeling of Clint’s arm around him, he _loves_ it.

 

“You’re right,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against Clint’s jaw with a breathy chuckle. “No one else matters but you, here with me. We’re all that matters.” He pushes up to give Clint a smooch on the lips, and Clint is proud of himself for not recoiling. “You’re so good for me, Clint, so good,” Loki purrs.

 

He’s going to find out who it is Clint’s lying about. But he’s not about to find out in the next thirty seconds, so for now he can just enjoy the feeling of the other man’s strong arms wrapped around his slim waist.

 

Loki falls asleep wrapped around Clint who doesn't even close his eyes. He's got to keep Loki happy enough to find a way to get a message to Coulson, and probably Natasha, that the mob boss is going to be looking for them. Loki might have been appeased for the night but he's smart and he'll have known Clint was lying through his teeth. It's only a matter of time before he gets one of his guys to start digging everything up.

 

By morning, Loki seems to have forgotten entirely about the ordeal. He has breakfast with Clint and he’s pleasant as ever. Or at least as pleasant as a serpent of a man can be. He’s spreading orange jam on his toast and chatting to Clint about how he’s planning on tearing Odin Inc. apart from the ground up.

 

Clint has heard this story a thousand times, but it seems different every time. Loki always uses new words to describe his disdain for his father, who chose to hand his company down to Thor for being a pretty face on the advertisements, despite the fact that Loki was smarter, and a better business man. 

 

“You’re not eating,” Loki suddenly says. Clint’s grapefruit and milk are untouched. He’s always been a one for light breakfasts, but Loki remembers that he has a certain weakness for grapefruit. He always has the best for him set out in the mornings. Something is wrong. It probably has something to do with his lying last night.

 

How cute. He feels _guilty_ for lying. He’ll probably come out with the truth soon. Loki will probably give him a spanking for lying, but he can’t punish him too harshly for admitting to it. He will soon. He will crack. 

 

Clint forces a smile and leans back in his chair. "I was just thinking. Your father obviously doesn't have much taste. I've seen Thor and he's a sap. Not nearly as good-looking as you either. Especially when you get all spiffy in one of your suits."  
  
As covers go it's not bad. Loki likes flattery. He eats it up like Clint usually devours his grapefruit. Though once it starts he never wants it to end.

 

Loki’s grin is wide. “You are very perceptive,” he says, his eyebrows doing almost as much talking as his lips. “Thor looks like a great golden ape when he wears a suit. Our father is not much better to be perfectly honest. I think I’m adopted, personally.”

 

"Quite a loss for your real parents then." Clint says. He starts picking at his grapefruit hoping to deter further questions. "And Odin doesn't know what he's got. He's just another mac with a lot of dough who thinks he's got brains. But look at you. Even after all this time you remember what my favorite breakfast is."

 

Loki feels a warm fluttering in his chest, and Clint thinks he can actually see Loki blush as he looks down at his own toast. He licks a bit of jam from the tip of his thumb with a shy sort of chuckle. “Yes, well, grapefruit isn’t all that hard to remember,” he murmurs, and Clint can’t even believe it, he’s actually being _modest_.

 

"It means something to me though." Clint says, seeing his chance. If he plays this right he might be able to get out for a little while today. He smiles and reaches across the table to take Loki's hand. "I'd like to make it up to you. Why don'tcha let me out for a while today and I'll pick you up something special? A thank you for taking me back and making me feel so welcome."

 

Loki is definitely blushing now, and he looks down at the table like he’s trying to collect himself. “Absolutely,” he says finally, looking up to meet Clint’s eye. He looks more vulnerable in that moment than Clint has ever seen him. “I’ve got a lot of meetings today anyway. I’ll have some sort of a job for you by tomorrow morning.”

 

He doesn’t want to let Clint out of his sight. He’s been keeping him on a pretty short leash since he came back, but maybe it’s alright. Clint seems like he’s sorry for leaving, he seems to be happy to be back. Loki wants him to be happy. Happy, here, with Loki.

 

But he can’t keep him as close as he did last time. That’s what chased him away, he said so himself. Clint won’t be his until he lets him go and he comes back on his own. He steels his eyes again and clears his throat, pulling his hand away and looking down at his half-eaten breakfast. He’s lost his appetite.

 

Clint finishes his grapefruit and drains his glass of milk. He's going out. Loki is actually letting him out. He'll probably be tailed so he can't make a break for it but he has a job to do. He can't run anyway. But maybe he'll be able to stop by his old place and give Coulson a call before he goes and buys Loki's romantic surprise. Just thinknig about it is almost enough to make him gag.  
  
"I'll walk you to the office then be on my way?" he offers, smiling at Loki.

 

Loki just nods, and lets Clint walk away without a kiss. He goes into his office to hide, and maybe to cry. He sends one of his youngest employees to follow Clint – a little homeless girl named Holly who desperately needed work. He told her to look as inconspicuous as possible and not to leave a thing out when she returned to him that evening. She knew better than to fail to meet a mob bosses’ expectations, and so she was off with a pen and a pad of paper to write down everything she saw.

 

Clint goes out and can't help relaxing a little. Living with Loki feels like being locked in a dungeon and being able to feel the sun and breathe fresh air without the other man at his side is liberating. It might only be for a short time but he's going to enjoy every second of it.  
  
He takes the long way, careful about his movements, but his first stop is his old apartment. Tony pays for it in his name so nothing has been touched. Once inside he goes straight for the phone and calls up Coulson's office.

 

“Office of Mr. Coulson, Maria speaking,” she picks up on the first ring, as usual. “Who’s calling?”

 

"It's Barton. Your boss there?" he asks.

 

“Hello Mr. Barton, we haven’t seen you in a few days,” Maria greets politely. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Coulson is going to be late to work today because he’s picking up his car from the repairman. Would you like me to take a message?”

 

Clint hesitates before answering. Its not that he doesn't trust Maria. She's actually one of the few people he does trust. She works hard and would never betray Coulson, but this is a sensitive matter. No one is supposed to know about his job except Tony and Coulson.

 

"Just tell him to keep a look out for a while. I've got a bad feeling." He says, hoping that will be enough.

 

“I will be sure to pass along the message,” Maria says, her voice is careful. “Is there… anything else you want to tell me, Mr. Barton?”

 

Clint shakes his head before realizing she can't see him.  
  
"No doll that's it." they say their goodbyes and he hangs up. He waits a moment before lifting the receiver again and asks the operator to get him Natasha.

 

The phone rings through with no answer. Either she’s not there or she’s avoiding calls entirely. Knowing her, it’s impossible to tell.

 

Clint hangs up. Natasha's not one to be caught by surprise and she can take care of herself. There's no reason for him to worry.

Having settled most of the nervous guilt he's feeling Clint grabs a bag and throws a few items into it. Nothing too personal but enough that if he's being followed, and he's sure he is, and Loki finds out he was here he'll have a decent excuse.

He leaves then, bag slung over one shoulder, and starts making his way towards the shops.

Loki greets him pleasantly when he comes home, and is overjoyed when he’s surprised with a fresh bushel of shrimp. He thanks Clint with a particularly eager blow.

 

Sitting with him after dinner on a small couch, Loki is playing with the swirls of hair behind Clint’s ears as they listen to the radio play music softly in the background.

 

“I’m so happy you’re home,” Loki has been saying it for days now, and he’s almost always petting Clint in some manner when he says it. He nuzzles Clint’s ear and curls up around his side.

 

The next day Clint hears news that his apartment building was burned to the ground that very night. A fire started in the apartment directly below his, and the whole building was burning within minutes. The family that lived in the apartment at the very top didn’t make it out of the blaze; they were dead from the smoke in their sleep before the fire even got to them.

 

Loki seemed startled by this news, petting Clint and murmuring to him, trying to calm him and console him. “You didn’t need that apartment anyway, you’re here with me now,” he says, “I’ll pay for anything in there you lost, anything you want, I’ll get it for you.”

 

He’s very pleased with himself. He didn’t mean for the family at the top to die, but sacrifices had to be made to keep Clint at his side. The little girl was given an extra two dollars for her very detailed notes.

 

That was when Clint realized just how crazy Loki really was. There was noting he wouldn't do to keep Clint close, even if it meant wiping out everything that had been a part of his life while he was away.  
  
And that terrifies him.  
  
Clint works hard from then on to make Loki happy and keep him from thinking about Clint being away. He lets Loki throw out his old clothes and buy him new ones. He stands by while Loki insults the few possessions he keeps and replaces them with newer, more expensive versions. Then it's the photos. Sentimental value means nothing to Loki. He takes them and throws them in the fire. The only one Clint refuses to give him is the one of his brother from their early days at the circus.

 

Loki thinks it’s alright if he lets Clint keep a photograph of his brother. But the pictures of Natasha were burned without a second thought. Photographs of his parents as well, Loki says “They’re dead anyway, they’re not in your life, you don’t need to keep carrying them around.”

 

Clint was just glad he didn’t have any pictures of Coulson.

 

Loki had put out a search on a Russian woman with a name that started with “Na” before Clint managed to stutter and correct himself. There weren’t very many women who fit that bill, and the photographs certainly helped.

 

Natasha didn’t hesitate to tell him everything. How she slept with Tony and Clint got all upset, how he broke it off with her and kicked her out. Loki offered her a job, and she couldn’t bear to deny him right to his face.

 

“Now you have a friend,” Loki sneered to Clint when Natasha showed up the next day with a smug expression. She left the room almost immediately to go exploring around Loki’s headquarters. “A familiar face, at least. I’ll get them all, one by one. Maybe I’ll bring your whole family over, the ones that matter. Like that Banner fellow, he seems interesting.”

 

Clint shudders at the thought. He doesn't want to imagine what Loki would do with the things Bruce has been experimenting with. No doubt use them for some unique form of torture only he could possibly imagine.

 

“Or that Fury. He seems like he knows what he’s doing. And Rogers, he seems like he could use some guidance.” He carefully watches Clint’s expression as he lists, watching for any signs on his face as he tries to read his book. “Or perhaps Coulson, he certainly seems like a dangerous fellow. I could use someone like him.”

 

Clint ignored each name as it came up. Fury had a deal with Tony and he wouldn't give that up. Rogers looked at Tony like an older brother. A real brother, not one who would leave him out in the cold for his own personal gain. They were safe.  
  
And then Loki had mentioned Coulson.  
  
Clint couldn't hold back a momentary twitch, little more than an especially fast blink, nothing anyone other than Natasha would have noticed. He wishes he hadn't done it though. He wishes he could have held it back. But it took him by such surprise that he couldn't keep himself from reacting.  
  
Because Loki is supposed to think Coulson is dead. Coulson said so himself. He had seen the scar. And he told Coulson to be careful. Loki shouldn't have any idea he's still around.  
  
"I don't need anyone but you, boss." Clint says as honestly as he possibly can.

 

“I didn’t ask who _you_ needed.” Loki says. “Coulson is quite the fellow. I wonder if he still has hard feelings about being stabbed – but it’s his own fault. Maybe I can make it up to him with a pay raise. I want to _destroy_ Stark, and if I take all of his little toys first…”

 

He continues on in that fashion, and he knows Clint thinks he’s safe. But he sees the fear in Clint’s eyes, the relief. He sees the dread and the pretending. He’s gotten what he wants.

 

“If I can get Miss Potts on my side some how, Stark will lose everything.” Loki muses with a positively feline smirk.

 

"Ms. Potts is too loyal." Clint says. He relaxes a little and reaches for Loki. He pulls the other man to him and reluctantly kisses his neck. "I don't know about the others. Met Fury once. Seems like a good fella. Never met Rogers or Coulson though."

 

“Well, it won’t stop me from trying,” Loki purrs, extending his neck backwards to let Clint kiss him more deeply. “Mh, Clint, baby, yes,” he moans, bows his back and wraps his arms around his shoulders.

 

Loki is determined to drown Clint in himself. He’s insatiable, taking Clint and taking and taking at least twice a day, usually more. He knows that Clint was weary, but Loki continues to take anyway. He will take until Clint is too tired to do anything but obey.

 

“I love you,” he murmurs as they lie across the small couch in Loki’s office, sweat cooling on their bodies.

 

Clint has a moment of sheer panic. He knows what Loki wants to hear and he knows he should say it but he can't. He hasn't even said it to Coulson and he actually feels that way about him. He can't possibly say it to Loki. But he has to. If he doesn't Loki will only be angry and that will only make whatever he's planning so much worse. But maybe he can put it off a little longer.  
  
"You could do a lot better than me," he says, trying to steer the conversation in a new direction.

 

“I don’t want better than you,” Loki says, cupping Clint’s face on both sides with a little smile. “If I wanted better than you I wouldn’t have tried so hard to get you back. I want _you_. I _love_ you.”

 

Clint kisses him. He's gotten better at doing it willingly and even with a bit of tenderness to it. Sometimes what Loki says sounds so good to him. It's always loving and needy. Clint hates that he likes that a little. That he likes being wanted. Coulson wants him too, he knows that, but he's rarely so open about it. It's nice to hear it.  
  
If only there wasn't that cruel possessiveness behind it. If only he wasn't so crazed in his need to keep Clint close. It's unsettling.

 

Loki seems sated for now and dismisses Clint before they risk Natasha coming back and finding them.

 

He knows that Clint is still hanging onto that last little shred outside Loki’s care. Coulson is keeping Clint from being totally his. He has to change that.

 

Clint has never been so happy for his light feet. He’s outside Loki’s office the next day, listening, his stomach feels like it’s in his lap.

 

“… and I want you to find Coulson. He’ll be by the pier today, delivering a package. You remember the time I told you?”

 

“Yes boss.”

 

“I want you to convince him to work for me. If he resists, just off him. Be quiet about it, be quick about it, and bring me his head.”

 

There’s muttering and sinister laughing. There’s at least six men in the office with Loki, maybe more. He’s sending a whole _party_ after Coulson.

 

Clint feels like there's a cold lump of lead in his stomach. He can't let them kill Coulson. If he loses Coulson than his life will be over too. Coulson's death will be the end of him as well.  
  
He has to get out. Loki has work to do, he won't be expecting him for an hour or two. If he goes fast enough, which he will, he'll be able to get there in time to warn Coulson. He might not be able to avoid Loki's goons entirely but at least he'll be ready for them.

 

But then he realizes that he has no idea what time Coulson is going to be at the pier. He came upon the conversation too late, and missed that part. He can’t just follow the pack of thugs, or he’ll never get there in time to warn him.

 

His skin is icy as he hides, and the thugs file out of Loki’s office and go their separate ways. They’re each at least twice Coulson’s size, big and beefy and mean looking.

 

If he goes he could stop them. It'll destroy everything he's worked for but he could do it. He could save Coulson's life. That's more than worth a few wasted weeks, isn't it?  
  
Of course it is.  
  
He has a few things to gather before he can follow the cronies. He has to make sure he has enough weapons on him to fight them all. They’re all much larger than _him_ , too.

 

He keeps an eye on one of the six men at all times, waiting to see when they were heading out. He had knives strapped to his sides beneath a thin jacket, a gun with the safety switched on tucked into the back of his trousers, his belt snug enough to keep it in place. He contemplated bringing his bow and arrows, which he learned to shoot during his days in the circus, but decided that they would be too hard to conceal and leaves them behind.

 

He’s sharpening a knife in his room when all of a sudden, a small girl with a brown dress and big mousey eyes walks cautiously through the open door and approaches him. She looks scared out of her skin, clutching a notebook to her chest and tears are rolling down her face. Clint wonders how she got into Loki’s building, let alone onto the security floor up near Loki’s office.

 

“I’m s-so sorry,” she says quietly, her voice hiccupping as she holds out the notebook with shaking hands. The second he takes it from her, she runs from the room, her blonde braids bouncing on her shoulders as she retreats.

 

Curiously Clint opens the notebook and begins to flip through it. Immediately he recognizes the notes as those of an amateur following someone for the first time. It takes him a few minutes to realize who that person was though.  
  
It's when he gets to the notes about the apartment building, complete with address, that he realizes who the poor little girl was following. It was him, the day he went out to buy Loki a present. That's his address on the page. The same address that doesn't exist anymore because it burned to the ground, killing the family on the top floor.  
  
Instantly he knows what happened. It can't have been anything else. Loki had found out that he had gone home and he hadn't liked it. He hadn't liked knowing Clint still had another place he could run away to if he wanted to get away. So he had gotten rid of it without bothering to think of the other people he would hurt.  
  
And that poor little girl, she must feel so awful about the whole thing. It was her work that put the idea in Loki's head.  
  
Clint throws the notebook away, feeling sick looking at it. He wants to kill Loki more than ever after seeing it.

She was going to be messed up about it for her whole life. A little girl wouldn’t be able to get over the fact that a family of four was unwittingly put to death because of her. He suddenly wants to find her and to take her someplace safe, to take her away from Loki.

 

And then he remembers Coulson. He’s just spent the last fifteen minutes reading through the little girl’s notes, and he forgot to keep his eye on the thugs. Heart pounding, he searches the building.

 

They’re gone.

 

He doesn't try to be stealthy when he leaves. He doesn't have time for that. He runs out, his weapons tucked away, and heads straight for the docks. He's glad he knows this city so well because he has no trouble weaving through the streets to find the right spot. He just prays he'll get there fast enough.  
  
He arrives beneath the pier only thirty minutes later and he sees that he is too late, but not in the way he expected.  
  
He expected to find Coulson surrounded, possibly wounded, at worst already dead. He expects to see his blood on the ground and the thugs standing around him getting ready to take their prize back to Loki. He expects the worst.  
  
What he finds couldn't be more different.  
  
Coulson is there and there is blood, but it's not his. The thugs are on the ground, unconscious or dead, he can't tell, with Coulson in the middle, gun drawn. He isn't even injured and he's without any allies. He took them down himself.  
  
"What happened here?" Clint asks, approaching his lover. He doesn't understand. Coulson is just a desk hand. A paper pusher. He couldn't fight. He wasn't supposed to fight.

 

Coulson blinks at Clint like he’s surprised he’s there, and he holsters his gun on one hip and takes out a handkerchief, wiping blood from his face and neck.

 

“Oh, hello,” he says rather pleasantly, and leans down to pull a knife from one of the thug’s throats, wiping the blade off with the kandkerchief before opening his jacket and sliding it blade-first into a concealed pocket. “I couldn’t actually tell you what happened. These men jumped out of the blue and attacked me. I defended myself, but I’m pretty sure most of them are dead.”

 

He takes a second knife from the back of a separate thug and uses it to cut the cord that suspended still another brute by the neck, allowing his body to crumple to the ground. He conceals the second knife in a holster on his side, and begins to wind the cord around a bobbin he produced from another hidden pocket in his jacket.

 

“Would you like to help me dump them in the water?” he asks, looking up into Clint’s startled face.

 

"How the hell did you do it?" Clint asks, suddenly angry. Coulson has been hiding things from him when he's been giving himself to Loki to protect their relationship and he wants an explanation.

 

Coulson looks around. “Stabbed two of them, hung that one, shot those two, and I think that one was actually a friendly fire incident.” He begins to lug the body nearest to the water towards the edge so he can throw it into the frigid depths.

 

Clint takes a step back, eyes wary. This isn't Coulson. It can't be. His Coulson isn't a fighter. Coulson works at a desk and makes calls and eats too much dessert. Coulson doesn't kill people. The most Coulson can do is stand with a weapon and try to look scary enough to drive his enemies back.

 

"How did you know how? You work in an office. You aren't trained to fight." He asks. He's so confused. This isn't right.

 

Coulson sighs as the first body tumbles into the water.

 

“I told you I had a job before this one,” he says, standing up and wiping his hands on his trousers. “I might sit behind a desk for Mr. Stark, but that’s not what I’ve done all my life. Are you really going to let me throw all the bodies in the water by myself? They’re really heavy and you’re much stronger than me.”

 

"What did you do?" Clint demands. "What was your job before this? What aren't you telling me Phil?"

 

Coulson’s expression hardens slightly, and he looks somewhat guilty. He’s silent for a long time, the only sounds were the gentle sloshing of the water against the bottom of the dock beneath the pier, and Clint’s heavy breathing.

 

When he finally does speak, his words are cold.

 

“That’s classified.”

 

"You're a cop." Clint says quietly, because that's the only explanation he can think of. No one outside the cops says things like 'classified'. Coulson, his Coulson, is a cop and a liar and he doesn't know what to think anymore.

 

“No, I’m not,” Coulson says as he begins to heft the second body towards the water. “I’m not a police officer.”

 

"Then what are you? A detective?" Clint asks. He's almost shouting now. He doesn't know what to do or what to believe. Everything has suddenly turned upside down and he can't make sense of anything. Coulson is a trained fighter, probably a cop, but at the same time he's dumping bodies in the river. He's shared Clint's bed but that might all have been a lie, part of a cover. It could mean nothing now and Clint doesn't know if he can handle that.

 

“Barton, calm down,” Coulson says as he turns to face Clint. He doesn’t draw any nearer, he knows Clint is drawn up so tight he’ll run given the trigger. He doesn’t want Clint to run. “I’m not a detective. But I could get in a lot of trouble if I tell you what I am. I’m not a different person all of a sudden. I’m still me.”

 

"No you're not." Clint says, shaking his head. "You're not the same. My Phil didn't lie to me. My Phil was as much of a criminal as I was. You're not him! For all I know he doesn't exist!"

 

Coulson sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want this to happen, not like _this_. “I never lied to you,” he says finally. “I am working for Stark. I am doing Stark’s dirty work. I _am_ a criminal. I’m just a very… special case.”

 

"What sort of special case?" Clint demands.

 

“I just said, I can’t tell you,” Coulson says. “Look, I didn’t ask for every shred and detail of your life before I let you into mine in the most intimate and dangerous way possible. So don’t go around demanding information out of me that I am legally obligated to keep quiet. Don’t decide you’re all hurt and broken because there are things about me you don’t know. I’m not your wife, Barton, and I never can be. I am a man with my own life, but I’ve decided to share it. That should be enough for you.”

 

"It's not enough!" Clint shouts. He's so angry he's shaking. "How could it be enough? Everything I know about you is probably a lie. Phil Coulson probably isn't even your real name. I know I wasn't always honest with you but that was to protect you. It wasn't about hiding anything and if you wanted to know about my life I would have told you because you're the only man I've ever trusted."  
  
He stops and takes another step back. He doesn't want to be here any more. He doesn't know where he wants to go but he doesn't want to stay.  
  
"Ya have your own life, right? Well I do too and I ain't sharing it with a liar."

 

Coulson moves faster than Clint does, and his grip is too strong on his wrist.

 

His heart is pounding in his chest. He can’t let Clint go. Clint is the one thing that Coulson has ever gotten because he _wanted_ it, and he wasn’t about to let him go so easily.

 

“Let go!” Clint is surprised by Coulson’s strength.

 

“My name is Phillip Coulson, I was born in New Jersey,” Coulson suddenly says, and his eyes are narrowed and his words are sharp. “I’m forty-two years old and I have terrible luck with romance. I met a man just recently who’s thrown my whole world for a loop, and I haven’t been honest with him because I didn’t want to scare him away. I didn’t want to lose him. And I still don’t want to lose him now.”

 

Clint has stopped struggling, but he still has his arm extended all the way.

 

“I dropped out of middle school when my parents were killed by the mob and I taught myself how to fight. Twenty years old, I started working as security for the president of united states. Twenty-one, I killed a man for the first time. Twenty-five, I killed those seven mobsters who took my parents’ lives. Six years ago I started working for the Bureau of Investigation, and they sent me to work undercover with the police here in New York City to help clean up the streets. Year after that, I’m sent by the police with Nick Fury and Maria Hill to work undercover for Stark. Supposed to take him out. Fury made a deal with Stark to leave him and his work be if he eliminates Loki and his gang.”

 

He pauses to let everything he’s said sink into Clint before continuing.

 

“I’m bypassing two levels of _it’s classified_ to tell you this. I’ll be killed if anyone finds out. You will too. You’re not going to let that happen, are you Barton?”

 

Clint shakes his head. He would have said no but there seems to be a disconnect between his brain and his mouth.  
  
Coulson isn't just a cop. He's a fed. He's BOI. He's probably more dangerous than any of them and all this time he's been sharing Clint's bed. He could have any of them killed in a second, as he's just shown, and for weeks he's been lying beside Clint, acting as if he was no more than another accountant on Stark's payroll.  
  
"I love you." Clint says quietly. He starts to cry as the anger and hurt fade away to confusion and love and shock.

 

Coulson pulls Clint forward and holds him against his chest, his body solid and his arms unyielding as he embraces the hurting man.

 

“I’m going to be eye-deep in boiling water if anyone ever finds out I’ve told you this.” He reminds in a murmur, his lips against Clint’s forehead as he holds him, counts his shivers. “I’m telling you because I don’t want to lose you. Because I lo – ” he pauses and steels himself. His voice almost wavered, and he takes a breath to steady himself. “I love you too.”

 

Clint puts his head down on Phil's shoulder and cries. He never would have before, not with anyone else, but he can't stop it and he doesn't want to. If one person in this world is going to see him bawl like an idiot it'll be Coulson and he's alright with that. He just rushed into a fire fight, sure he was going to find the man he loves dead, only to instead find him a live and learn that he's not the person he thought he was. And on top of that to find out that he loves him anyway.  
  
It's a lot to take in and after having to hide his emotions for weeks he's tired. He wraps his arms around Phil and he holds him while he cries onto his shoulder. He doesn't think about how much trouble they've just got themselves into. He doesn't think about how Loki and the feds are going to be coming after them eventually. He doesn't think about how stupid they've both been and he knows Phil isn't thinking about any of that either. All that will come to pass eventually. For now he's just going to hold onto Phil for as long as he possibly can and he's pretty sure Coulson is going to do the same.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Loki’s office is a mess. Absolutely trashed. There’s a man lying dead in the corner with a letter opener through his eye. He’s nearly glowing with rage.

 

Clint’s left him again, for that Coulson who _killed_ his men.

 

“I’ll do my best,” Natasha assures him from where she stands, cool and calm despite the fact that one of the most dangerous men in New York City is in a murderous rage. “I’ll try to bring Clint back.”

 

“You will succeed, or I’ll be decorating Coulson’s grave with your pretty red curls.” Loki’s voice is icy and calm.

 

“I understand,” she nods and walks out of his office.

 

Loki collapses in his chair and begins to cry.

 


End file.
